Angel
by AriMarvelUniverse
Summary: The man was going to save her. She was sure of it. She was never sure about anything, in her bleak, bitter prison. But she was sure of this in a way that she had never been before. The man with the brown eyes was going to save her.
1. Angel

The man was going to save her. She was sure of it. She was never sure about anything, in her bleak, bitter prison. But she was sure of this in a way that she had never been before. The man with the brown eyes was going to save her.

She had been in this place since before time started. There was nothing but this place, with its white walls and white floors and mumbling, muffled voices. She couldn't remember anything other than this place. She couldn't remember anything, ever. This was the world- this blank, featureless, black and white world. It wasn't cold, and it wasn't hot. It was just there, and she was just there. It never changed. The hands that came to force the medication down her throat only changed a little. Sometimes they were rough, sometimes they were gentle, but the result was always the same.

The medicines took away all thought, and all impulse. The cleansing sour waves and the porcupine pinpricks of the needles sucked her thoughts from her head like a mosquito drinking from an open wound. They drained her dry and cleaned her out, leaving her a staring, comatose sack of flesh and weakened bonein her cell. They took the words away and killed the slight buzz of awareness she tried desperately to hide from them. It was like clockwork. The buzz would start, and then they'd kill it, and she was as she had been.

The most she could do then was raise and drop her head, and grunt. But that was all she needed. Rarely, when the hands came, they were unsure. They would mumble and pause, uncertain. They asked her questions she didn't understand. And just before the medicines cleansed her head like a pulled drain, she would feel the weird impulse to raise and drop her head. That was it, but it was a magic gesture. The hands would leave, and the medicine wouldn't come. The buzz would build and build.

And then...the world would explode inside her head.

She would know words then...smells, feelings. There was white, and black, and cold, and hunger, and pain. There was vomit, and screaming, and the coppery stench of blood. She could hear things. Things like "PineHurst" and "Specials" and "Insane". Words like "Asylum" and "Abilities" and "Second Company". Everything flooded in then, water through a dam, suffocating the medicine. She could think, and see. Her eyes would open wide, like taking a blanket away from a telescope lens.

But the most important sensation was memory. She remembered who she was. She remembered her name, and her age. She remembered the man in the horn rimmed glasses, and his stern, pinched face, and his wispy colorless hair. She remembered that she hated him, and she remembered who the hands belonged to, and vowed that she would kill them, and kill the man, too.

She recalled things before the medicine and the hands- she remembered warmth and the smell of cooking baby formula, and the mesh netting of a dirty playpen. Clutching with desperate, grabbing hands, screaming as she was walked away from, never to be seen again.

And she remembered that she was different. She was special. That she didn't belong here. She wasn't crazy.

She WASN'T.

These crystal clear blessings usually didn't last long. She didn't know what triggered it, but eventually the hands would return to take the world away again.

But sometimes, they didn't. And sometimes she would dream. That was when she saw the man. Her savage Angel.

The man with the deep, sinister brown eyes, swimming with everything in the whole world. He changed every time she saw him. Sometimes his hair was long, sometimes it was short. Most of the time he was alone, but sometimes he was surrounded by other people. He would be chained and restrained, like her, ragged and beaten, but his eyes still shone with vengeance and feeling. He would be free and untethered, clear or blurry. He was her Angel, her savior coming to free her from the horn rimmed glasses man and the never ending hands. She saw him kill and love and pray and live, and it was beautiful to her. He was more than a man, he was a heavenly being. And she felt like she knew him, from another, buried life, ages and ages ago.

In her dreams, he was called many things. The name she dreamed of most was Gabriel. When he was gentle, and quiet, he was Gabriel. But there was another one, one that was the darker, more evil name for him. When he was sharp and murderous, seeking revenge and blood, he was Sylar. She thought she liked that one better.

She felt what he felt- his never ending hunger, his deep boiling rage at the world. She suffered when her Angel suffered, and she prayed, hoping that the louder she prayed, the faster her lamentations would bring him to her.

But she had to be careful. If she was too loud, the hands would find her again, and drown her back under the bitter, tepid waves of the medicine, and she would lose sight of her Angel.

«»«»«»«»«»«»

"Mr Bennet, please, sir, wait, please, wait-!" The harried, hassled Pinehurst employee struggled to keep up with the tall, thin man striding through the sterile white halls. Those cold corridors echoed with the remnants of tortured, dementia filled screams that had been ripped, bloody and strangled, from the throats of the residents in the undersized, overcrowded ward. People yelled for loved ones long dead, or babbled on and on with figments of their diseased minds, caught in the throes of their medicated stupors.

The man paused long enough to brush the back of his hand across his face, straightening his horn rimmed glasses, then continued on. At first glance, he looked like exactly what he pretended to be- a loving husband and father of a humble Texan family. The label of the imaginary Primatech Paper Factory adorned his jacket like a crest, when in reality it was a front. Noah Bennett had never sold a piece of paper in his life.

His work at the Company- the only name for the facility and organization that sought, captured, and contained those with specially abnormal abilities- was deadly and laced with risk, constantly hanging over his family's head. But to protect his Special daughter, it was mandatory.

"Mr Bennett!" The employee squeaked petulantly, tripping over his shined and oiled shoes. He combed his stringy comb over into place on his shimmering head, chest heaving. "Mr Bennett, please, slow down. It's really not that pressing." Bennett sneered to himself and didn't bother turning around. "Not that pressing. Really? Possibly the most dangerous and unstable resident in the Pinehurst Asylum for the ESpecially Insane just muttered the name of the deadliest serial killer in this day and age, and it's not that pressing?"

The employee, a man by the name of Preston, snorted and waved his hand. "Exactly. 'Insane'. This girl has no idea about anything most of the time. We keep her so doped, I doubt she even knows her own gender." Bennett finally stopped and spun on his heel. "Then how did she know about the Sylar case?" Preston sighed. "As I was trying before, she probably heard one of the attendants talking about it and regurgitated the name."

"You'd better hope so, Preston. I'd hate to have to report that Pinehurst can't keep its inmates sufficiently sedated and inhibited. If this girl's abilities ever spike we're all in for a living hell." Bennett responded. "It took us three years to find her, and even longer to erase her from the public's mind. The Haitian and I were working overtime for weeks on this, and-"

Preston waved again, a steely look in his watery eyes. "I don't think I like what you're implying, Mr Noah Bennett. We know exactly what she can do, but we are underfunded, overcrowded, and ignored. We do the best we can with these bat shit crazy freaks." He took a deep breath and composed himself. "Here, I'll show you..." He scampered forward and took the lead. Bennett rolled his eyes, but he followed the portly man down the hall until they came to a stop by a random cell. "Here we are. Gauge Gray."

Inside the padded, painfully white space was the figure of a teenage girl. She was thin and emaciated, with a ragged mane of wild dark brown hair that covered her face. Her straightjacket was blood stained and riddled with tiny needle holes. Her feet were bruised and filthy. She didn't move, as if dead. Preston tapped the glass like she was an animal in a zoo, a cruel smirk curling his mouth. "See? Completely harmless, like a neutered lion. We've got everything under control. Isn't that right, you little freak?" he snickered, banging his fist hard on the glass. The girl flinched, but otherwise didn't respond.

Noah Bennett held in his disgusted expression as he watched her. His empathy had died after years of this job, but he could almost bring himself to feel bad for this girl. Her family legacy wasn't her fault, like her brother's actions.

But after what Sylar had done to his Claire...He wasn't inclined to show the psychopath's family any mercy or pity.

She was still too dangerous on her own. He had dealt with her bloodline before, and was once bitten and twice shy. He would not be making any mistakes with her. If Sylar- his personal Frankenstein's Monster- ever found out about her, they'd be nothing he could do to keep her and the rest of the world safe. This was for her own good.

For now, he was satisfied. "That will be all, Preston. Thank you. Bob and Angela Petrelli will be pleased." he reported. They turned to leave, but Preston froze in place. Bennett raised an eyebrow. "Is there a problem?" Preston blanched and glanced around. "Shh. Did you hear that?"

"Hear-?"

"_Aaaaannnngel_..."

Both men twisted back around to the cell. The girl inside hadn't moved, but they still heard the wet, hissing whisper that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once, resonating from the corners of the hallway.

"Aaangel...Ssssylar...my An-Angel...coming...for...me."

Gauge Gray lifted her head, and grinned a chapped, red lipped, twisted smile, full of blinding joy and malicious anticipation. Her teeth gleamed like those of a hungry shark, and her eyes stared with the black hearted hate and murderous excitement of a satanic priest that had just seen a vision of deliverance and death.


	2. Cry For Help

Once Bennet and Preston had gotten over their stunned shock, they had watched in horror as Gauge began to wiggle and twist half heartedly against her jacket, like a worm trapped under a rock, trying to squirm free. They watched her in terrified fascination, unable to look away. "Has she been given her daily dose yet?" Bennet hissed out of the corner of his mouth, captivated by the girl's fixed brown eyes. Mutely, Preston nodded, likewise transfixed. "Y-yes...of course. Same time every day."

Almost as if she had heard him, Gauge started struggling in earnest, jerking wildly as if she were having an epileptic fit.

"How strong is that jacket?"  
"It's our toughest material. She'd never break through, especially without her-"

The world blinked- a small, inscrutable twitch, like a reflexive motion, a miniscule shift in time and space. The DVD of the world paused and skipped for a tiny millisecond. And in this spacial pause, one of the restraints on the straitjacket disappeared without a trace, as if it had never been, and the tight garmet loosened ever so slightly. With a sinister smile, Gauge ripped one arm free of the dirty restraint.

The reaction was instantaneous. Preston bellowed in rage and fear and made a dash for the door and the safety of the hallway beyond. Bennet caught him before he made it three feet and dragged him by his collar over to the far wall, heedless of the other man's fearful gasps and choking cries. "No! NO! Please! It's me she wants! She wants ME!" Bennet pushed him into the wall and dug his hand into Preston's starched shirt. "BE QUIET!" he commanded, straining to keep his hold on the flailing man. He removed a keychain with a security card attatched to the end, holding it up to a blinking keypad on Gauge's cell. Seeing this, Preston lost nearly all control.

"NOOO! DON'T OPEN THE DOOR! DON'T SACRIFICE ME! PLEASE, NOAH!" Convinced that Bennet was about to open the door and throw him to the wolves, Preston fought with all his might to get away, but Bennet was too strong.

Another cosmic blink...another restraint, gone.

He swiped the card and punched in a long series of numbers. The keypad beeped cheerily and the light turned purple. There was a loud, prolonged hiss, but the doors to the cell didn't open. Instead, a thick white mist began spraying from four vents inside- one on the ceiling, one on the wall, and two on the floor, directly beneath her. It engulfed her like a fog, momentarily obscuring her from view. Outside, she could be heard choking on the powerful sedative as it flooded her nose and mouth before she could hold her breath. She coughed, hacked, twisted her head back and forth- there was no escaping the medicine. She went still and silent again amongst the white clouds.

And all was silent again, aside from Preston's terrified gasps. Bennett released him and threw him away from him in disgust, chest heaving. Some of his cool, professional demeanour was gone. He was pale and wet with cold sweat, and his hands shook. "We almost had a situation there." he said. "That was too close. Too close." He glanced over at the other man, who was holding his heart and mopping his soaked brow, trembling. All of the man's cocky, self assured arrogance was gone, and he looked like a scared child. "Get up, Preston." he snapped.

"Did...d-did you f-feel that?" Preston gasped. "Th-that...that..." He had no words for it, but Bennett knew what he was referring to- that strange, invisible cosmic blink. Remembering how it had felt made a hard, knotted ball form in the pit of his stomach. He knew what that meant, and he hated it.

"She used her ability." Bennett bit out grimly. "Or tried to, at least. Thank God she was too weak to do any real damage with it. But this doesn't bode well for us if she was able to do that through the daily dose." He exhaled forcefully and pinched the bridge of his nose. "How much is she being given now?"

"Th-the m-maximum amount allowed. Any more and it would k-kill her."

"Then she can't stay here. First she cries 'Sylar' and then she uses her ability? We have to move her."

"M-move her?"

"It's too dangerous. If the drugs aren't working anymore, we may have to do the same thing we did to Adam Monroe. Under no circumstances can Sylar ever know about her."

***

The damn motel room was too cold. He'd called down to the front desk about the temperature going on four times, and it still hadn't changed. Nothing but frigid air blew from the rusted vents, and it was pissing him off.  
Sylar slouched unhappily against the headboard of the sunken bed and stabbed his long fingers into the buttons on the simple remote, changing from one fuzzy channel to the next repeatedly. The roadside motel he was staying in was a lowdown dirty piece of shit, but it was remote, cheap, and secretive, which was what he needed, since he was on the run for murder.

He paused on the local news channel and smirked to himself, watching the coverage of a recent homicide in the area. Twenty six year old Andrea Mitchell, attacked and scalped in her home. The top of her skull had been removed, exposing her brain to the world, but there were no fingerprints, no DNA...no incriminating evidence of any kind. The camera zoomed in on the body, showing the gruesomly precise decapitation that could have been the work of a surgeon- a deranged surgeon.

His own glorious handiwork. Sylar felt no guilt or remorse for her death. As far as he was concerned, she had died for a worthy cause. Evolutionary imperative, survival of the fittest, natural selection. What ever you wanted to call it. Andrea had been a Special-he'd known it from the minute she'd walked past him at the gas station, and the miniature clock inside his head had started ticking, loud and insistent, using him to watch, pay attention, observe. So he had, and he'd seen when she noticed the station attendant trying to rip off an old lady...from six aisles away, on the other side of the store. She would have had to be half red tailed hawk to see that normally.

He had then followed her out and stalked her to her house, where he subsequently killed her and stole her ability right out of her brain. Now, when he focused, he could see each individual grain in the wooden nightstand by his bed.

Sylar shifted and tried to make himself more comfortable. Counting Andrea, that made...six murders, in the past two weeks? He sighed wistfully. That was nothing...there was a time when he would kill someone every day. But that was before Captain Time-Travel and the Save The World Brigade. Before Peter Petrelli and his evil bitch of a mother yanked his mind and body apart like a page from a sticky note and Chunky Monkey Matt Parkman implanted a conscience in it on the road trip from hell. Before Danko and Bennett.

After all of that, Sylar had been way off of his game, and for a while he'd even considered being 'good'. But the hunger for power could not be contained for long, and he was back to his old tricks in no time at all. He was done being good.

Except...now, it was too easy. There was no danger in his mission anymore. Simply put, he was bored. Obtaining Claire Bennett's healing ability had been both a blessing and a curse. There was no rush, no higher purpose. There was just kill and wait for the urge to kill again. It was mind numbing in the extreme.

The tv picture jumped and spat, and Sylar scowled, pulling his thick eyebrows together over his eyes. He stood up and moved over to the stupid machine, giving it a savage kick. The static only got worse. "Oh come on you stupid-"

'Syyyylaarrr...'

He froze, glancing around. Clearly, no one else was there with him. It has been nothing. He chuckled darkly to himself. 'Well, that's that...all these abilities...Bennett was right. I'm finally going insane.'

'Syyyylllaaar...'

Was the tv calling his name? Sylar peered closer at the snowy screen, more interested than afraid. The static was slowly clearing the longer be looked, and it wasn't just his enhaced vision. Images were becoming visible, and the audio of voices was breaking through the monotonous hiss.

"Move...girl...not real, Bennett..."

"Bennett?" Sylar whispered, hardly able to believe it. This was no show...this was real, as if someone had opened up a window in time and space on his tv. As he watched in amazement, he saw what looked like the inside of a loony bin. Bennett and a small, fat man were hauling the body of an unconscious girl out of a small cell. The sign on the wall said "Pinehurst Asylum for the ESpecially Insane".

"What if Sylar already knows she's here?" the smaller man was saying. Bennett frowned. "No one knows she's here, Preston. We erased his and everybody else's memory of her long ago. Now we just have to make sure it stays that way."

'Sylar...Sylar...help me...help...me...' The creepy, ragged whisper was calling him again, emanating as though it were in the room with him. It was coming from the girl, but her lips didn't move, and Bennet and Preston didn't seem to hear it. The hunger, so recently sated, kicked into high gear again. The sound of the clock in his mind was deafening, and it pointed him towards HER. That girl, that poor, crazy wretch...he had to get to her, at all costs.

The image on the tv faded back into meaningless static, and the criminal known as Sylar grinned widely to himself, no longer bored. It looked like he was making a trip to Pinehurst...again.


End file.
